


never close enough

by chiaraherondale



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4557396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiaraherondale/pseuds/chiaraherondale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He realised what had just happened, and the terrible things that could've happened. What if she hadn't pushed him? He would surely be dead. What if she had pushed him, but she wouldn't have been able to hold onto him? She would surely be dead. And a little part of him realised that the latter would be much worse.</p>
<p>(or)</p>
<p>An AU in which Teresa survives the ending of The Death Cure, but Thomas isn't ready to forgive her just yet. Or at least that's what he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never close enough

**Author's Note:**

> this is a super old (like a year-old, pre-movie-old) fic that i deleted from tumblr (and i don't even know why anymore), but decided to edit and re-publish. also, i reread fangirl and my love for writing fanfiction is reborn now.

A splintering, shattering noise split the air so loudly that Thomas looked back. His eyes drifted upward, where a massive section of the ceiling had torn loose. He watched, hypnotised, as it fell toward him. Then, Teresa appeared in the corner of his vision. Her image was hardly recognisable in the clogged air. Her body slammed into his, and she somehow managed to embrace him in the motion. They both fell into the maintenance room, just as the section of the ceiling fell to where Thomas was standing a second ago. She landed on top of his body, knocking the breath out of him.

Her silky black hair fell onto his face, tickling him. This close, he could see every single hair, every drop of sweat on her forehead. Their noses were touching; just barely, but they did. She was breathing heavily, her lips open, and he felt her hot breath on face. He allowed himself to explore her face with his eyes—he paid attention to every shadow, every freckle, every sharp angle, until his gaze fell on her lips. Nothing would ever be as enchanting as they were, so pink and plump and he could still feel their taste in his mouth if he tried hard to remember— He had to look away. Those lips brought pleasant memories to his mind, but also some that broke his heart all over again. Their gazes locked, and she was staring at him with her blue eyes wide open. He sometimes thought that those eyes contained all the wisdom and the beauty of this universe. They were so blue…

Finally, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in and opened his mouth to say something. No sound left his throat, though. He coughed.

"Thanks… Thanks for saving my life," he said at last, feeling somehow obliged to say that. But in that moment, hearing those words hanging in the air, looking at every detail of her face, he realised what had just happened, and the terrible things that could've happened.  _What if she hadn't pushed him?_  He would surely be dead.  _What if she had pushed him, but she wouldn't have been able to hold onto him?_  She would surely be dead. And a little part of him realised that _the latter would be much worse. That living without her would be unbearable. Knowing she sacrificed her life for his sake._  He knew he would owe her forever.

He heard Minho yelling something at him, but he didn't care. All he could care about was her, and this moment, and its beauty and peace.

"Don't mention it," she answered, still lying on top of him and finding her breath. Then, it hit him. He remembered. The Scorch Trials. Teresa kissing Aris. Teresa Agnes, the Betrayer. Immediately he pushed her off him and stood up. He walked to the room with the Flat Trans. He did not look after Teresa, but he shook his head in a desperate attempt to shake the thoughts off. Everyone had already gone through the Flat Trans, and the only people in the room were Brenda and Minho. Brenda was looking at them with her eyes wide. She still looked shaken up from Thomas's possible death. Minho was facing the Trans.

"C'mon, shuck-faces, we gotta go!" he shouted through the sounds of the explosions. The building was collapsing too quickly now, with fallen pieces of the walls and explosions everywhere. Teresa stepped in front of the Trans. In the last moment, she shot a quick glare at Thomas, as if making sure he was there, alive, making sure she actually saved him. He looked away from her, not wanting to look at her, not wanting to have to do anything with her. Then, she disappeared.

And then Minho disappeared, grinning at Thomas as he did. But Thomas saw through it. He saw the great sadness in his eyes. He felt a tightness in his chest, as if his heart broke. It was broken, broken so many times, for Chuck, and for Newt, and for Teresa, and many other things, but somehow, it broke again. For Minho, because who the hell decided which people had to suffer and which did not?! Minho had already been through so much and yet managed to stand straight, to fight. One would have to know him very well to look past the grin and notice his blank gaze.

Brenda's hand grabbed his, and he looked into her eyes, into those dark, dark eyes. (And he couldn't help but think how different they were from Teresa's glowing blue eyes.)

"She just saved your life," she said in disbelief. Thomas still couldn't believe it. It happened so fast.  _Yeah, but she also betrayed me, when I trusted her the most,_ he thought as they took their place in front of the Trans. The explosions were in their finale now, being painfully loud. Every time something fell to the floor, his body shook. They looked at each other one last time and stepped through the Trans.

He landed in the shed, getting up and looking around him. Teresa and Minho were in front of him. Minho's eyes were somewhere far away, and Teresa was looking at Thomas. Her mouth was slightly open, as if she wanted to say something. He turned around, not wanting to hear anything from her. Brenda pushed some buttons on a control panel, and then the gray plane winked out of existence. How did she know how to do that? Thomas wondered.

"You guys get out," she said with a little urgency in her voice that Tomas didn't understand. And besides, he had a lot of thinking to do, a lot of things to process. "I have to do one last thing."

Minho looked at Thomas and said: "My shuck brain can't spend one more second thinking. Just let her do whatever she wants. Come on." The two of them went outside, Teresa walking behind them.

Thomas stopped in his tracks, looking at the beautiful world the Trans took them to. They stood at the top of a hill above a field of tall grass and wildflowers. It was so colourful—green and red and blue and purple and yellow, and so many more colours. The saved people were already walking in the valley, running, jumping, children laughing. To his right, the hill descended into a valley of towering trees that seemed to stretch for miles and miles, ending in a wall of huge rocky mountains that jutted toward the cloudless blue sky. To his left, the grassy field slowly became scrub brush and then sand. And then the ocean, its waved big and dark and white-tipped as they crashed onto a beach.

It was paradise. The Flat Trans transported them to paradise, to a place they were told didn't exist anymore. He just hoped one day he could enjoy the beautiful colours and scents and sounds of this place fully, to absorb them, because now he just felt relieved they were finally safe. In his gut, he had a feeling they were safe forever, that no more terrible things would happen. As relieved as he was, he couldn't bring himself to enjoy it all.

"I'm going to the beach," Thomas announced to no one in particular and turned left. He didn't want them to follow him. As he walked, he saw Brenda walking toward Minho and Teresa. The shed was engulfed in flames, and he heard Brenda say: "Just making sure."

He sat at the beach for hours, his foot bare and hit by waves of the cold sea water, his hands in the hot sand. And he was thinking, thinking so hard he thought his head would explode any moment. He was thinking about Teresa, about Brenda, and the kiss in the club, about the Scorch Trials, about everything and nothing at once, about the future and the past. But even though he was thinking for hours, he didn't figure anything out. He didn't make a decision. The sun had already set, and Thomas was still sitting on the beach, not thinking, finally. He heard footsteps behind him and then Teresa was sitting down next to him. He noticed she sat far from him, as if she was afraid that sitting closer to him meant he would run away from her. God. It made Thomas sad, despite everything. There was a war inside him, and he was tired of fighting. They were quiet for a few minutes, but then she spoke.

"Minho's already organising everyone. Food search parties, security shanks—" she stopped talking and scoffed. She must've realised she'd just used Gladers' slang. And then she went on: "building teams, and so on… He's awesome, he just runs around and shouts orders—"

"Why did you save me?" Thomas interrupted her out of the blue, "I mean, in the headquarters, why did you jump in front of me? You could've died." Finally getting the words out felt scary and stupid and exciting and hopeful at the same time. One thing Thomas knew for sure was that he wanted answers. She looked at him, shocked, but answered after a while.

"I—I don't really know. I guess I thought you'd never forgive me anyway. And you know, I didn't want you to die, without forgiving me. Also, not at all. You dying is a terrible thought that breaks my heart still. I thought if I'd die to save you… I thought you would forgive me. And anyway, if I'd live and you'd die, my life would… I don’t… I don't know what would I do. I would be a wreck. I couldn't..," she looked at her shoes, "I couldn't live without you, even if you'd never forgive me. I couldn't live with the knowledge that I did those things to you. And you didn't forgive, and you died, and I could've saved you. So I went forward, I went forward and tried to save you. And look! I saved you. But I saved myself, too. Stupid human instincts. And now I live, and you live too, and you didn't forgive me anyway, and—"

He didn't know how it happened, or why, why the hell he did that, but as he was looking at her, listening to her, he looked at her lips and stared at them for a long time. And then some secret force made him to do that. Or maybe… maybe he just wanted to. Maybe, he forgave her.

Anyway, he was kissing her, not wanting her to speak or apologize or talk about forgiveness. Words were powerful, but they could only do so much when two people cared for each other. He wanted her pink, too pink, mesmerising lips on his, and he wanted to savour her, to taste her. The kiss was desperate and harsh and tasted of destruction and dust, but he liked it. He felt all the emotions inside like a storm, like a fire, like an apocalypse. He caressed her cheek, and she let her hands wander into his thick hair. He moved his hands to her waist, hugging her, and he moved her closer to him, close, but not close enough. _Never close enough._

Finally, they broke apart, and she looked into his eyes, and he looked into hers, and he  _saw_  her. For the first time, he truly saw her. He could see her soul, he could see her confusion and her tenderness and the happiness finding its place in her soul again. She smiled at him, just slightly, a little, almost invisible smile. He smiled back. And he meant it. His smile was honest and he felt light-headed.

"Why? Why did you forgive me?" she asked him, not looking him in the eyes, but looking at his chest, as if she was afraid he would change his mind and hate her again. But he didn't hate her. He had never hated her. He thought he did, but he was just sad, and frustrated, and confused, and he didn't quite get her. He didn't hate her. He couldn't.

"Why did you do the things in the Scorch?"

"I already told you," she sighed, sadness in her face. "Either those things you'd never forgive me, or your death. I was selfless, I had to be. If I would have been selfish, I'd have spent more time with you, and maybe we could've been together. But you'd die sooner or later. I could never live with myself knowing I was the reason you died, having to look into the eyes of the people who love you and see them blank and broken-hearted and hard. And of course, of course I had to do those things, because your life means much more than us being together."

And then, he suddenly and finally understood; he understood those things, understood her thinking. The realisation came like a powerful tsunami, washed over his judgement and hate. He now knew she truly cared about him, and he saw how doing those things actually broke her heart. He knew she didn't have a choice. Or, more accurately, he knew she _had_ a choice, and chose to do the right thing, the selfless thing that ensured his heart would still beat, but broke _hers_.

With his hand, he gently pushed her chin upwards, so she had to look him in the eyes. He hoped she would see all the things in them; things he couldn't say, things he didn't know how to say. He wanted her to see how genuinely sorry he was for acting like a slinthead, he wanted her to see he understood, he wanted her to see he was sorry. He wanted to know how much she meant to him.

Her face softened. She got it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, relieved. "I'm so, so sorry. I was a slinthead. And I forgive you, of course I do, I should've done it so long ago, but I forgive you now. I'll never forgive myself for doing those things to you and not getting you, though. I'm sorry."

She laughed a little then, and it was such a beautiful sound. It made him see the magnificence of this place, the scents and colours. The sound of the waves. The gentle wind. But then he saw she was crying.

"You don't have to be sorry. It's okay. It's okay now," she whispered back and leaned in to kiss him. This time, the kiss was slow and soft, and he felt her smooth lips on his. They reminded him of satin, of heaven, and he thought that even the best of poets couldn't express something as soft as those pink lips of the girl he loved.

He didn't know what would happen next. He didn't know if they'd survive. He didn't know what to do with Brenda, or if she would hate him for the rest of their lives, he didn't know anything. He didn't know what would happen in the next second, much less in the next day, the next month or year. He knew one thing, though. He knew he was with Teresa now, and he finally forgave her, and he finally knew it was not her fault, and he loved her, and he needed her. _And she loved and needed him, too._


End file.
